Come up to Meet You
by LadyDivine91
Summary: When Blaine Anderson meets Kurt on the streets of New York, Blaine can't believe his eyes. He's been waiting to meet Kurt in the flesh for so long. The only problem is that Kurt can't fathom why ... or how Blaine knows who he is. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.
1. Come up to Meet You

**Written for the Klaine Valentines Challenge Prompt Day 2 "Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop"**

"Kurt? Kurt Hummel?"

Kurt plucks the earbud out of his left ear when he hears his name weave in between songs.

"Is that really you?"

Kurt, who had stopped outside of Starbucks to check his text messages, looks up as a young man approaches, eyes widening beneath enviably long, dark lashes, staring at Kurt as if Kurt was Clark Gable reincarnate.

"That's me," Kurt replies out of curiosity, but against his better judgment. Having an attractive man gawk at him is flattering, but, at the same time, the awe on his face is a little unsettling, especially since Kurt has no idea what he did to warrant it. Kurt _had_ earned his fair share of admirers after performing in NYADA's winter musical, _Company_. Maybe this man knows him from that? Kurt received rave reviews in the school paper for his portrayal of Robert, and 'Being Alive' is considered one of his signature songs. But he doesn't know if he was good enough to earn the heart-eyes aimed his way right now.

Or maybe he had been. He shouldn't downplay his talent.

Could this man be a student at NYADA that Kurt doesn't know?

"How can I help you?" he asks.

"I'm … I'm Blaine," the man says, hand outstretched, rushing forward as if he's been waiting for this day his entire life. "Blaine Anderson."

The man introduces himself like his name should mean something to Kurt. And Kurt wishes it did, not just because this man is possibly the most adorable person Kurt has ever met in his life, but because of the fact that he seems to know Kurt, and Kurt has no idea how.

"It's nice to meet you, Blaine." Kurt takes Blaine's hand to shake it, but the man simply holds on, sighing in reverence. It might be a little creepy, but Kurt had better get used to it. When he's a big name star on Broadway, he'll have to handle overzealous fans all of the time … and they might not be this polite. Or endearing. Or _handsome_.

There's an awkward pause, both men still holding hands but not speaking, expecting the other to go first. Kurt tilts his head in question, and Blaine's expression changes from joy to confusion.

"I - I thought you were in Nice on a modeling assignment." Blaine's forehead wrinkles, suddenly catching on to the fact that something about this meeting isn't quite right.

It doesn't seem to be going the way he thought it would.

Kurt chuckles uncomfortably, afflicted by the same suspicion. "I - I do work at _Vogue,_ but I'm an intern, not a model."

"Yes, you are," Blaine insists, no longer acting like the starry-eyed teenager he was moments ago. Instead, he's a nervous man trying to make something be true when he's steadily realizing it's not.

"Um, Blaine," Kurt asks, casually removing his hand from Blaine's grasp, "why do you think I'm a model? And how do you know my name?"

"B-because …" Blaine laughs as if Kurt's being ridiculous. But it's a strained laugh, and through Blaine's expressive, honey-colored eyes, Kurt can see Blaine's heart breaking "… y-you told me you were. Y-you and I … we've been talking online for months now. We're … we're kind of … d-dating." Blaine chokes on that last word, debating if he should have said it, make a bigger fool out of himself than he's already making.

Kurt shakes his head slowly, trying to make sense of what Blaine's saying.

"Look …" Blaine reaches into his pocket, hands shaking, and pulls out his phone. "I'll … I'll show you." He unlocks his phone and hands it to Kurt, and Kurt takes it carefully. He scrolls through a screen full of messages – a conversation between Blaine and someone calling themselves Kurt Hummel. Blaine even has the number saved as _Kurt Hummel_. It's surreal. The incoming number has a 212 area code, so the messages are coming from somewhere in Manhattan. But then it occurs to Kurt that it's probably a burner phone so, in fact, whoever is texting Blaine could be anywhere. Kurt comes across a few picture messages and gasps. The photos are of him, ones that he recognizes from the profile Isabelle made him on the _Vogue_ website, specifically from the portfolio that got him hired.

"Those are my pictures," Kurt admits to a hopeful Blaine, "but these messages … these aren't from me." From the corner of his eye, he sees Blaine's smile fade. "First of all, I didn't go to high school in New Jersey. I'm from Ohio."

"Really?" Blaine says. "M-me, too."

"Oh? Small world," Kurt says, trying to sound conversational, make something about this situation feel _normal_ even though it's far from that. "And this French …" Kurt shakes his head. It mentions on Kurt's _Vogue_ profile that he's a fluent speaker, so this can't be a coincidence. Kurt doesn't know why someone would do this to either of them, but it sends a chill down Kurt's spine. "Whoever wrote this translated it using Google translate. Very little of this is correct. I'm afraid you've been catfished. I would suggest contacting the police maybe?" Kurt hands Blaine's phone back to him, trying to avoid looking at Blaine's face. It's too painful. "I'm so sorry. I really am."

"No. No, that's okay." Blaine selects the messages and hits _erase all_ , then puts the phone back in his pocket. "It's not your fault. It's just … I have been sitting in a campus coffee shop every day since the start of this semester, talking to a man who said he was you. I didn't have a lot of friends when I started at NYU, and this guy - he was sweet, kind, compassionate … and totally lying to me." He sighs. "I'm such a _loser_."

"You're _not_ a loser," Kurt says, offended on Blaine's behalf. "Alright? That guy …" He jabs a finger at the phone in Blaine's pocket "… that _person_ who's been lying to you, _they're_ the loser. Not you, Blaine."

Blaine nods, but he doesn't look too convinced, and that kills Kurt because Kurt knows how that feels, to have expectations built up high just to have something come knock them down.

To have _bullies_ knock them down. Whoever that person is on the other end of those text messages is a _bully_ , regardless of why they started doing what they did. It doesn't matter to Kurt if they're lonely themselves, or scared of meeting new people in real life. At the moment, looking at Blaine's splotchy red cheeks and downcast eyes, whoever they are, Kurt has no sympathy for them. They used Kurt's identity to lie to Blaine and lead him on. It's unnecessarily cruel.

"Come on. Let me buy you a coffee," Kurt offers. "Or lunch," he amends, seeing as coffee might be a sore spot for Blaine now.

"That's okay. You don't … you don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do. That jerk used my face and my name to hurt you, and I want to make it up to you, maybe lecture you on the importance of healthy skepticism and Internet safeguards." Kurt hopes that might earn him a chuckle. It doesn't. "Besides, now I'm pissed."

"Why?" Blaine shrugs, probably wondering why Kurt even cares.

"Because you seem like a nice guy. And do you know how hard it is to find a nice guy in this city?"

Blaine's lips twitch, stretching slightly with the start of a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"If you and I had met at school or in a bar, then maybe we could have gotten to know one another, hit it off normally. But now, I probably don't have a chance with you, do I?" Kurt's not trying to flirt with Blaine. He doesn't want to hurt Blaine more. But this is still an opportunity, and if Kurt has learned one thing about moving to New York without a college acceptance, an apartment, or any semblance of a plan, it's that he shouldn't let an opportunity pass him by.

"That's … that's not true," Blaine says.

"It's not?"

"No. It's not."

"Then why don't we make this awful thing into a good thing?" Kurt suggests. "We'll eat, we'll talk, we'll get to know one another. If anything, at least we could be friends."

Blaine looks like he's chewing it over, but from the brick red filling in his cheeks, Kurt can tell he's embarrassed. And Kurt can't blame him. But he hopes Blaine can see that he isn't lying. Blaine _does_ seem like a nice guy - charming, humble, sincere, the kind of guy that, had they met in high school, might have helped Kurt get through, made him feel less lonely.

"I'd like that," Blaine says finally. It doesn't sound like an easy decision, but now that he's made it, Kurt is going to do everything in his power to make sure he doesn't regret it.

"Great. So, let's start this over." Kurt extends his hand again. "My name's Kurt Hummel, the one and only," he adds with a haughty hair flip.

"My name's Blaine." Blaine takes Kurt's hand and gives it a shake, a little less than thunderstruck, but Kurt's okay with that. Kurt has time to convince Blaine of his fabulousness. "Blaine Anderson. It's nice to finally meet you."


	2. Nobody Said It Was Easy

**Three weeks later, Kurt and Blaine have transitioned from their awkward first meeting to friends, then to boyfriends. And in that amount of time, they've gone pretty far, but not all the way. Blaine thinks that tonight might be the night, but does that plan go south after he puts his foot in his mouth? (1376 words)**

 **Written for the Klaine Valentines Challenge Prompt Day Eleven "At My Most Beautiful" and inspired by #3 on this list a/mortified-people-share-the-dumbest-thing-theyve-said-on-a-date/p-1**

"Okay, okay, okay, wait, wait, wait!" Kurt takes a deep breath, trying to calm down long enough to speak, but he snorts instead, and Blaine nearly spits soda across the table. "So, you dressed up as a tap dancing purple dinosaur at Six Flags for _how_ many years?"

"Five," Blaine replies, not sure he should expand any further since Kurt looks on the verge of exploding, his face beet red from laughing. "And … and … I had to lie about my age for the first three years because I wasn't sixteen yet!"

"Jesus Christmas!" Kurt guffaws so loudly, diners at other tables start turning their heads. "You _really_ wanted to be a purple dinosaur, didn't you?"

"I _really_ wanted to have something other than Show Choir Captain to put on my resume," Blaine admits. "I mean, Speech and Debate and Model U.N. are great, but if you want to be a Music Performance Major, they don't help out so much."

"No, I get that." Kurt calms down enough to take a sip of water, clearing his throat before he accidentally chokes. "My senior year of high school, I was so desperate for ways to pad my college applications, I almost joined some Superhero Club at my school."

Blaine stops laughing. His eyes go wide. "Your high school had a _Superhero Club_? That's so _cool_."

Kurt snickers, his eyes lighting up as he reaches across the table to take Blaine's hand. Blaine flips his hand over so he can grab hold.

That touch, which seems to engulf Blaine's whole body from that single point of contact, is _everything_.

It's been three weeks since that day Blaine introduced himself to Kurt on the street, out of the blue, thinking he was someone else, and for as awkward as that moment was, as positively humiliating, Blaine is happy every day that he did. Because these past three weeks, which sped along through the stages from coffee dates to movie dates to dinner dates to official boyfriends, are worth ten times more than every conversation he'd had with that catfishing loser from who knows where.

Dating Kurt is like breathing. He makes everything so easy. They clicked immediately after that first awkward conversation. Kurt bought Blaine lunch, and they spent a good two hours monopolizing a table at the Manhattan Diner, talking about their lives over potato skins and hummus. They didn't get along simply because they were both from Ohio. Westerville (where Blaine is from) and Lima (where Kurt is from) aren't just two hours away; they're almost worlds apart. But regardless of that rift, they discovered that they like so much of the same things - the same books, the same movies, the same music, the same designers.

Kurt is an amazing person, so much more than Blaine thought he'd be.

It's in the details, really – Kurt's smile when he sees Blaine, his laugh when Blaine tells a corny joke, or how excited he gets when they spend time together.

Kurt leaves Blaine the most phenomenal voicemail messages. He'll call to tell Blaine he misses him; call to tell him something that happened that day, something that would be too long to text. He's been known to leave Blaine messages that include the hottest, juiciest gossip from _Vogue,_ things that only employees would be privy to. And sometimes (and these are Blaine's favorites) he sings Blaine a song he heard on the radio, or something more Broadway that he hopes to perform at school.

Blaine has made two of those his ringtone – one for general calls, and the other, his personal ringtone for Kurt.

It may seem like such a little thing, but for Blaine, it means so much.

Kurt just _gets_ him, as cliché and as greeting card as that is. Kurt seems to know how Blaine is feeling before he opens his mouth, knows what Blaine's thinking without Blaine having to explain, which is a bonus because Blaine rambles when he's nervous.

Like he is now, hence the Six Flags story, which he swore to himself after he graduated that he'd take to his grave.

They've spent the last three weeks talking and laughing, getting to know one another and spending time together, but also kissing and touching, never stripping farther than down to their underwear, hands traveling below the equator but always with cotton in between. They had decided early on to take things slow. Blaine still felt burned by his catfishing experience, and Kurt had just gotten over some jerk who'd cheated on him.

But Blaine has a feeling, and he hopes he's right, that tonight's the night.

Because here they are, out for dinner as usual, only this time, Kurt had asked to stay the night at Blaine's place.

The night wears on, music playing in the background as comfortable conversation flows. Appetizer platters get cleared away for the main course, then those empty plates stacked to the side to make space for after-dinner drinks. Kurt has Blaine enraptured with a comically tragic tale of one summer spent working at his father's auto shop (quid pro quo for Blaine's painful story), but even so, Blaine can't help imagining the possibility of making love to Kurt. It was a passing whimsy when they arrived there, but it's driving him to distractions. By the time they finish their drinks and ask for the check, Blaine isn't sure that it's safe for him to stand up, his tight jeans traitors to his cause.

Blaine reaches for the check the second it hits the table, but Kurt beats him to it.

"I've got this," Kurt says, pulling it out of Blaine's reach when Blaine tries to snatch it. "You've paid for almost every other dinner so far."

"I'm a trust fund baby. I can afford it."

"I may not have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, Blaine Fancy-pants Anderson, but I can cover _one_ bill. Besides, you're giving me a place to sleep for the night," Kurt reminds him, subtly suggestive. "The least I can do is pay for dinner."

"All right," Blaine agrees, trying to act smooth, but Kurt's mention of Blaine's pants had gone straight to his dick, and his mind was working seven ways from Sunday to keep himself flaccid. Somewhere along the line, messages get tangled, wires crossed, and he says, "But at least let me pay for the sex."

Kurt stalls, the credit card he'd been pulling from his wallet pinched between his fingers. He stares at Blaine, his boyfriend standing to check his pockets, nonchalantly, as if he'd just ask Kurt for the time.

"Uh, Blaine?" Kurt shoots an amused look at their waiter, who had returned for Kurt's card and stopped short when he heard. "Do you realize what you just said?"

"Yeah. I said _at least let me pay for the tip_." Blaine drops a ten dollar bill on the table.

"No, you didn't," Kurt says.

"No, you didn't," the waiter confirms.

Blaine looks at Kurt, a single corner of his mouth lifted but otherwise bemused, and the waiter, slightly impatient, but enjoying himself immensely.

"Wh-what … what did I say?" Blaine asks, suddenly petrified.

"You asked him to let you pay for the sex," the waiter informs him. Then he grabs Kurt's credit card and walks off to let Blaine suffer the consequences alone.

Blaine's mouth drops open, his Adam's apple disappearing when he swallows hard. "Uh, oh G-god," he sputters. Kurt bites his lips, the smile behind them barely contained. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I am so so sorry. I didn't mean it …" Kurt's smile plummets like a stone and Blaine goes pale, shuddering like he's about to faint. "Except, I did, sort of … I mean, not about paying for it, but … I didn't want to assume, and I … oh _God_." Blaine puts his hands over his face, wanting to die from mind-melting embarrassment. "I-if you want to go home, I completely understand. I'll even pay for your cab fare. I …"

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere but your place." Kurt steps up to his boyfriend, ready to put the poor man out of his misery. "And don't worry," he whispers close to Blaine's ear. "The sex is free."


	3. You Don't Know How Lovely You Are

**After dinner, Kurt and Blaine go to Blaine's apartment …**

 **Written for the Klaine Valentines Challenger prompt day nine "Be My Forever"**

They're not drunk.

They barely drank enough alcohol throughout dinner to get tipsy.

And the little they did drink, they burn off laughing and cuddling in the taxi on the way home, making out in the stairwell on the way up to Blaine's apartment, fighting with the front door because Blaine's hands shake too much to get the key in the lock the first five times, slow dancing in the living room while they kiss some more, stripping off each other's clothes to the rhythm of the music, eager to get to bed but not ready for this to end.

To prolong it, they converse while they dance and kiss and undress, exchanging little nothings, a background breath of conversation so it doesn't seem like they're there just for sex.

"You know, I love your apartment, Blaine," Kurt murmurs while he undoes Blaine's bowtie. "I love all this space. It's rare that you find someone willing to commit to a two bedroom apartment just for themselves."

"Well, it helps when you have a ridiculous amount of disposable income." Blaine chuckles bashfully, working at the buttons on Kurt's shirt with less success than he would like. "With the market the way that it is, sometimes I feel bad having a spare room just to store my instruments."

"Are you kidding?" Kurt helps with the buttons, relocating Blaine's hands down to his belt to speed things along. "I'd _kill_ for my own sewing room."

"But your loft is huge!" Blaine nibbles Kurt's earlobe.

"And cold …" Kurt gasps when Blaine's teeth lightly graze his skin "… and damp. I can't leave any of my fabrics lying around. Everything would end up moist in the morning. It's also in a scary neighborhood … and kind of lonely …"

"Oh, Kurt …" Blaine pauses between kisses to look in Kurt's eyes "… I don't want you to be lonely."

Blaine found out on their third date that he and Kurt had a tremendous amount in common aside from being from Ohio. They were both in show choir in high school. They had both been bullied for being gay. They both moved to New York with dreams of someday performing on Broadway.

And they were both lonely.

Blaine lived alone by choice, but it wasn't something he was used to. He'd gone from living with his mom and dad, to attending boarding school, then one plane ride later, he was alone. He doesn't regret his decision not to live in the dorms. There are benefits to having his own apartment that far outweigh the benefits of rooming in a dorm. But he's made one or two stupid decisions because of loneliness.

Decisions he'd rather forget.

Kurt moved to New York with his best friend – a plan they had conceived their junior year - but shortly after, she scored a role on Broadway, which segued into her own TV show. The show was canceled after the second episode, but she had moved to Los Angeles to film it and, since she had an agent finding her work, decided to stay.

She didn't come back for the rest of her stuff. Kurt had to pack it up and send it to her.

As happy as Kurt was for her, he was sadder for himself. He had lived the dream of moving to New York with his bestie for a grand total of about six months before it ended.

But now Kurt and Blaine had each other. And if Blaine had his way, Kurt would never feel lonely again.

When they've gotten as far as they can removing clothes without breaking apart from one another, they stumble into the bedroom to sort out the rest. They trip over pant legs and hop to grab socks, chuckling and giggling and outright guffawing when Blaine's misstep over Kurt's feet lands them in a tangle on Blaine's bed. They kiss and touch and whisper and smile, and all of the anxiety from earlier which caused Blaine's subconscious slip of the tongue bleeds into obscurity.

Dating Kurt has been so easy. They meld together seamlessly. They complement one another effortlessly.

But making love to him is even more simple. It's being alive, in all its vibrancy - in its bright colors and its soothing, muted shades; its symphonies and its lullabies. Kurt knows what he wants. It surprises Blaine how much. Blaine fumbles only a few seconds asking, "Did you know how … I mean, did you have an idea of how you wanted …?" while Kurt wordlessly produces a condom and rolls it down Blaine's length, then a bottle of lube seemingly from nowhere.

It's like a magic trick, but then everything Kurt does seems magical.

Kurt isn't shy about asking for what he wants, another surprise considering a confession from days earlier where Kurt mentioned feeling like the sexual equivalent of a baby penguin back in high school, how he felt like puberty didn't really kick in for him until his second year of college. He guides Blaine's hands, commands gently, "Touch me, Blaine … there, please … no slower … yes, yes, just like that … now, kiss me …" so that there's no doubt in Blaine's mind, no question that Blaine can please him. Because he is, simply by following Kurt's lead, and Blaine can't get enough of him. He can't get enough of kissing him and caressing him, figuring out the speeds and angles that make him beg, make him moan, make him fight to remember words that make sense, and make him forget how to breathe.

Blaine watches Kurt in amazement as he slides over him; watches the faces he makes that revolve around a single, blissed-out smile; watches his eyes as they lock on Blaine's eyes, becoming more black than blue as he climaxes, full of Blaine's body and beneath his weight.

"Oh, Blaine." Kurt mutters the only phrase he can that means anything for the moment. And the sound of Kurt's voice whispering heavy in Blaine's ear, its deeply entrenched meaning expressed succinctly using only two simple words, makes Blaine shudder. Blaine had forgotten that something as wonderful as this existed in the world.

He's so thankful that Kurt came along to remind him.

Blaine slowly sinks in to Kurt when his orgasm builds to the point that muscles start to become useless and cognitive thinking begins to fail. He wraps his arms around Kurt's torso so he can be as close to him, as one with him as he can be. And even as he starts to fear that he may be crushing Kurt, his weakening thrusts driving into Kurt's hip bone, he feels Kurt's arms weed around him and hug. One hand slides down his spine to his ass to push in and hold, and that's when Blaine lets go.

"Oh, God," Blaine moans, cumming inside Kurt's body. (In a condom, but still. It might lessen sensation, but it doesn't block out Kurt's heat, or his tight squeeze.) "Oh, Kurt. Oh ... God …" Blaine mumbles into the soft skin of Kurt's neck, breathing him in and breathing out moans of his name. "Oh, Kurt … Kurt …"

"That's it, baby." Kurt massages the nape of Blaine's neck, laying kisses against skin whenever it comes within reach of his lips. "Oh, Blaine …"

Blaine buries his face into Kurt's collarbone, breathing fast against his chest as Kurt continues with soothing strokes up Blaine's back, kneading twitching muscles till they begin to relax. With each breath, Blaine loosens his grip and raises his head. God, that was good for him - better than he remembers it being with anyone else, and sure as hell better than masturbating at home alone. But he needs to know …

"So …" Blaine pants, hoping that the words he wants – suave words, romantic words – will come. But, unfortunately for Blaine, unless he's singing, words are rarely ever his friends "… what did you think?"

Kurt looks at his anxious boyfriend, calms his own breathing. His smile, which had been blinding before, becomes blasé. He shrugs. "It was fun."

Blaine's jaw drops. "Just … just _fun_?"

Kurt's mouth twitches in the corners. "Fun's not a bad thing, per se."

"I …" Blaine suspects he's being teased, so he doesn't argue. He tickles. Kurt squirms to get away, but Blaine's on top of him, weighing him down.

"Blaine!" Kurt cries, throwing his head back with laughter.

Blaine takes advantage of his exposed neck, not just with kisses, but with zerberts. "Just fun, huh?" Blaine remarks between Kurt's squeals. "That's all?"

"No, no, no, I was joking! _I was joking!_ " Kurt exclaims. "It wasn't just fun. It was amazing. You're amazing, and incredibly sexy, and completely mind-blowing."

Blaine stops his assault. He lifts up on his hands and knees. "Really? You're not … you're not just saying that?"

"I'm not just saying that," Kurt says, pulling Blaine's body back down. "I swear. You're wonderful and awesome and talented and … and …" Kurt's attention is suddenly pulled by the sound of Blaine's phone buzzing on the bedside table, wondering how and when it even got there "… you're getting a text message, I think."

"Hmm …" Blaine reaches over, not budging an inch off Kurt's body in order to get it. He looks at the message on the screen and groans. "Oh, give me a _break_."

Kurt scowls. "Is it _him_?"

"Yeah. Dammit! I told him to stop texting me."

It didn't take long after meeting Kurt for Blaine to figure out how his catfisher might have gotten his phone number. The week prior to him receiving the text messages, he'd put up a notice on the student bulletin boards at school trying to sell a few old guitars. That was the only way he could think that anyone could get his number. He didn't even have it listed in the student directory.

Unfortunately, Blaine couldn't change his phone number without throwing his life into a huge upheaval. Besides, he still wanted to sell those guitars. He'd have to put his new number on the notices and, if the catfisher was persistent (which they seemed to be by the amount of new _Please, text me back, Blaine. We need to talk_ messages he got in a week) they'd still be able to get a hold of him.

Blaine went to the police. They said they would look into it _if they had time_ , but that more than likely they wouldn't be able to help him. They recommended he block the number and report it to the donotcall registry as well as his service provider. They also told him to record any incident of further contact just in case.

The officer assured Blaine that catfishers rarely ever come after their victims in real life. The odds of anything but a few annoying text messages coming from this were slim.

If Blaine ignored them, they should just go away.

It was the lengthy verbal equivalent of a shrug.

Blaine did as they suggested, blocked the number and reported it, but that only stopped the messages for a couple of days. Soon they came back from a different cell phone number.

Blaine has been ignoring them, but they're still frustrating.

"Here. I have an idea." Kurt holds out his hand for Blaine's phone. "May I?"

"You may." Blaine hands Kurt his phone, no idea what he has planned.

Kurt switches it to camera mode. He scoots closer to Blaine and puts an arm around his shoulders. He raises the phone up, adjusting until they're both in frame. "Say cheese!"

"Cheese!" Blaine smiles wide for the camera.

Kurt snaps the picture. Then he attaches it to a message and sends it on its way.

"There. That should give whoever-never a clue that you're mine now."

"Let me see."

Kurt hands Blaine his phone and Blaine checks the sent messages. There he sees the picture. It's a really good picture, if he does say so himself, even if the two of them look like they've just run a marathon, hair sticking out, faces flushed, obviously naked even though all he can see is their bare chests. Underneath the picture, Kurt had typed:

 _Don't contact Blaine again. He's very, very busy making love to his devoted boyfriend so kindly fuck off. Hugs and kisses, the real Kurt Hummel._

Blaine nods in approval. "I think so," he agrees, setting his phone aside. "Devoted boyfriend, hmm?"

"Absolutely." Kurt rolls over onto Blaine and kisses him sweetly. "Hopelessly devoted."

"Hmm, I like that," Blaine says.

"Me, too."

"So …"

"So …?"

"Your message _did_ say that I am very, very busy making love to my boyfriend."

Kurt wiggles his eyebrows. "It did say that, didn't it?"

"It did."

"Well, then. We'd better get started," Kurt suggests, eyes dark, smile even darker, "but this time, _I_ get to be inside of _you_."

"Oh, God," Blaine moans, Kurt sealing his intentions with a kiss.


	4. Tell Me Your Secrets

**Tell Me Your Secrets, And Ask Me Your Questions**

 **It's Monday morning, and Kurt is still reeling from his phenomenal weekend with Blaine. But it's time to get back to life as normal. Except, after today, life will be anything but normal …**

 ** _Warning - this chapter is where it gets angsty. Please don't hate me. I promise, everything turns out okay in the end :) I don't want to give anything away, but there is a mention of violence and blood, so if you guys are squeamish, just stop reading when Kurt touches his shoulder._**

 ** _Written for the Klaine Valentines Challenge Prompt Day Thirteen "Yellow" by Coldplay._**

Kurt tugs on his windbreaker, sluggishly marching down the stairs from his cozy, comfortable loft to the harsh, grey outdoors. He grumbles and moans theatrically along the way, which makes his downstairs neighbor, returning from her own morning jog, chuckle.

"Getting started a little late this morning, aren't we, Mr. Hummel?" she teases.

"Don't start with me, Mrs. Hildabreg. We can't all be sprightly, energetic 63-year-olds, you know."

"83 last May, dear."

"So you keep telling me, but I don't believe it. You still training for the Ironman Triathlon?"

"You know it."

Kurt reluctantly leaves Mrs. Hildabreg behind, even though the scent of fresh baked cinnamon buns floods the hall the moment she opens her door, their sinful aroma luring him back. Kurt knows that if he's willing to spill a little tea about the goings on at _Vogue_ , she'd be more than happy to offer him one. He's dodged many a morning jog that way before. If it wasn't for his afternoon Spin class and his evening yoga, he'd be done for. But besides her genius baking skills, he enjoys their talks. Mrs. Hildabreg adopted him as her bestie after his left for L.A.. Lonely people can sense loneliness in others, it seems, so they tend to cling together like the last few Cheerios in the bowl.

But Kurt has to be strong this once. He doesn't _want_ to go on a morning jog, but he needs to get back in the swing. He indulged too much this weekend. Not on sweets. On _Blaine_. Kurt spent too much time in bed with Blaine sleeping late and too little time on his calisthenics.

That's okay. He figures the amount of cardio he got having sex makes up for it.

Kurt sticks his earbuds in his ears and fiddles with his iPod to keep his mind off the impending cold. He feels it creeping into the hallway underneath the front door the closer he gets. It's almost foreboding the way it sneaks up on him. He skips through the menu to his "Diva Playlist", needing his carefully constructed mixture of Beyoncé, Aretha, and Whitney to get his heart pumping. Icy air hits him like a wall the second he steps out the door of his building and onto the sidewalk, but at the same time, he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulls it out, already knowing who it's going to be.

And that makes his chest feel instantly warm.

 _From: Blaine_

 _So, when do I get to see you again?_

Kurt reads this ridiculous message, sent by his adorably ridiculous boyfriend, and smiles.

 _From: Kurt_

 _You just saw me this weekend. A lot of me, I might add. Aren't you tired of me yet?_

Kurt steps out of the doorway as he waits for a reply. He could swear someone had wanted to get by. He feels eyes on him, but no one walks past.

 _From: Blaine_

 _Not at all. Need to see you. All the time. I miss you when you're not around._

Kurt giggles. He's about to send back a message about this obsession of Blaine's being unhealthy, but he changes gears. He doesn't want Blaine to think for one second that he equates Blaine's cute comments with the aggravating messages Blaine still gets from his catfisher.

 _From: Kurt_

 _Well, that makes two of us, which is why I'm having dinner with you tonight._

Kurt doesn't think Blaine waits half a minute between getting his message, reading it, and sending a reply.

 _From: Blaine_

 _Not soon enough_.

Kurt can't judge Blaine on the speed in which he replies since Kurt is already typing a response, having anticipated Blaine's answer.

 _From: Kurt_

 _What if I tell you that you get to have me for dessert?_

There's an actual pause between messages. Kurt can imagine the look on Blaine's face when that message comes through.

 _From: Blaine_

 _I can wait._

Kurt laughs out loud, that warmth in his chest spreading out to his limbs. If he had to sum up how he feels in one word, it would be yellow. Yes, with all of the romantic, evocative words in the English language, he picks one as juvenile yellow. Other words might fight to take its place and come close, but yellow fits so perfectly. Yellow makes Kurt think of spring and the sun, and he feels like the sun is shining just for him. The stars, too. And even though he's exhausted right now, he feels beautiful, happy and energetic, like he can run and jump and swim for miles. He feels desired and safe and loved. Blaine brought that into his life.

Blaine makes him feel this way.

"Kurt? Kurt Hummel?"

Kurt pulls an earbud from his ear when he hears his name, a bizarre sense of déjà vu looming over him. He looks up, searching for a face to match the voice. There's quite a few people out and about at this hour of the morning. It's Monday, and most everyone in New York is on their way to work. But Kurt's eyes are immediately drawn to the only other person standing around. He's propped against a lamp post, smoking a cigarette, flicking the end with his thumb like a nervous tick though he seems far from nervous. He's about Blaine's height, with wavy brown hair, and deep set cognac eyes.

They would be beautiful eyes, Kurt thinks, if they weren't glaring at him like this man wants to take Kurt's head off.

"Kurt Hummel?" the man repeats again, tossing the cigarette butt to the floor, not bothering to crush it.

Kurt looks him over from head to toe. He doesn't know how long the man has been standing there, but Kurt gets the impression from the mess of discarded butts littering the ground at his feet that he's been there a while

Kurt hopes he's not another victim of the catfisher. Kurt only has one heart, and he's already given it away.

But Kurt thinks not. The way the man stares, Kurt doesn't want to give him an answer.

"That's me," Kurt says anyway since it's obvious this man already knows. Why would he wait out here in the cold otherwise? "And you are …?

"Eli." He leaves it at that. No last name. No other identifying information. Just Eli.

Kurt doesn't remember ever meeting an Eli.

"Do I know you?" Kurt asks.

"No," Eli says. Annoyed, he pushes off the lamp post. "But you know my _boyfriend_."

"Your boyfriend?" Kurt scrunches his nose, confused, but realization dawns fast. "You're … you're him, aren't you? The person who's been catfishing Blaine."

"I haven't been _catfishing_ him," Eli sneers. "I've been trying to contact him, but he won't talk to me anymore. He won't talk to me because of you. _You_ took him away from me."

"I didn't _take him away from you_. He was never _yours_ to begin with."

It hits Kurt after snapping that he should watch his tone. He doesn't want to provoke this man. Kurt doesn't know whether or not he's dangerous. Everything about Eli unnerves Kurt - his constant running a hand through his hair, his eyes darting left and right as people walk by, shifting on his feet as if he's preparing to barrel forward but only barely stopping himself.

But it's the way he slides his hand to the back of his waist band - like he's reaching for something beneath his jacket - that has the hairs at the nape of Kurt's neck bristling.

Kurt wants to look this man in the eyes, wants to show Eli that he won't be bullied, but his eyes drift to that hand every time it moves.

"That's not true," Eli argues. "We've been together … in real life. We've met. We've even been intimate."

"I have a hard time believing that," Kurt says with a scornful laugh, but the minute the words leave his mouth, he knows they're true. That's how the catfisher got Blaine's number. It wasn't some random person lifting it off of his notice on the bulletin boards.

Blaine actually knows him.

"We were both lonely," Eli explains, "both in pain. We understand each other. I need him and he needs me, so you need to _back off_."

"Excuse me? I need to what now?" Kurt blurts out, anger continuing on where common sense might have stepped down. He can't help himself. On the one hand, Kurt knows he's putting himself in harm's way if this man intends on attacking him. On the other hand, how dare Eli? How dare he show up at Kurt's home, of all places, and try to drive a wedge in his new, wonderful relationship? "If the two of you need each other so badly, understand each other, then why have you been lying to him? And using _my_ face to do it? Which, by the way, makes you one of my least favorite people in the world."

"That's just a … it's a big misunderstanding. A joke that went too far," Eli demands, taking that step forward that Kurt has been dreading. Kurt's outside his building with his back against the wall. The two of them might be physically matched, but this definitely puts Kurt at a disadvantage. One too many run-ins with high school bullies taught him to never let anyone back him up against a wall. "I had him first!"

"Are you calling dibs? What are you? Twelve?" Kurt feels this argument escalating but he can't stop it. He doesn't want to. He wants this man to make a move so that he and Blaine will have something to show the police. Maybe a black eye and a broken nose along with a handful of witnesses will finally get them off their asses to do something about Eli.

Eli takes another step forward, hands balled into fists, and Kurt braces himself. This is it. Eli's going to punch him. Kurt sees a few people cross the street in his direction, eyes popping open as they take notice. Excellent. Kurt just has to make sure that his head doesn't hit the wall behind him and knock him out. But mid-lunge, Eli stops. His hands relax. He stands upright, takes a casual step back, and crosses his arms over his chest. Kurt sees the man's train of thought switch tracks, his expression go from livid to haughty in a blink. The transformation is expert … and terrifying. "Come on, Kurt," he says, and even his voice sounds changed. "You work at _Vogue_ , surrounded by handsome models. You can probably have a different guy every night if you wanted. You don't _really_ want my sloppy seconds, do you?"

"So, you're slut shaming Blaine now? Is that it? That's how much you need him? He's a _grown man_! What he did before he met me doesn't concern me … except maybe making sure he doesn't have anything _contagious_." Kurt tosses that remark in to re-stoke Eli's ire. If he can only get Eli to take a swing at him … "Besides, _I_ have him now." Kurt doesn't know what gets into him. This plan is crazy! He should stop now and call the police. But he's so wrapped up in his venom for this man that he just wants to bury his needles into him. "I've been _having him_ all weekend long."

Kurt licks his lips and gives Eli a wink.

Eli's eyes go from calculating slits to furious saucers. "You're _lying_!"

"You saw the picture. You tell me."

"Blaine wouldn't go for someone as trashy and vulgar as you!"

"Is that why you picked _my_ picture? Huh? From the millions of people in New York that you could pretend to be, you picked me because I'm trashy and vulgar? You don't get to have it both ways, _Eli_. You don't get to use my face and then insult me. And guess what? If I _am_ trashy and vulgar, then Blaine _likes_ trashy and vulgar because he's going out with me. _Me_! Not _you_. Me." Eli opens his mouth to interject. Kurt doesn't give him the chance. "Blaine Anderson is an amazing, incredible man. I don't know why the two of you aren't together, and I don't care, but you might know that for yourself if you were honest with him. But you can't even be honest with yourself. Lesson learned. You'll know for next time, but not with Blaine. Because I'm not giving him up for anything in the world."

"Fine." Eli's face becomes hard, his mouth a grim line. "You want him so badly, you can _have_ him."

"Like I need _your_ permission. I'm out of here. And like I said before, kindly fuck off." Kurt rolls his eyes and storms off. He knows he shouldn't. A voice in his head is screaming at him - _Don't turn your back on him! Don't leave without calling the police! He knows where you live! He'll be back! He'll break in!_ But his plan isn't working. There's too much adrenaline pumping through Kurt's body right now, and he needs to get away.

He needs to put some distance between them before he does something rash.

He has a life to live, and he can't derail it for this one disturbed man.

"Great. Fine. You guys win. Are you happy now?" Kurt hears the words closing in behind him, a persistent mumble in Eli's grating voice. "You got an _amazing, incredible_ man, and Blaine got the man of his dreams ... that doesn't mean he gets to _keep_ you."

Kurt, phone still in hand, finally starts calling the police. That's what he should have done from the beginning. He knows he'll hear about that later – from the cops, from his dad, from Blaine. He'll hear about it when this is all a distant memory. He'll recount the story of coming out of his building to see Eli standing there, eyes set to kill, and he and Blaine will have a laugh about crazy exes. Blaine will tell him everything, tell him how he had to leave Eli because Eli is sick, he's toxic. And if Blaine hadn't been 100% certain of his decision to leave the man before, the catfishing and the stalking proved it. And thank God he got out of there before anything serious happened.

"9-1-1. What's your emergency?"

"Yeah, hi, my name is Kurt Hummel. I live in Bushwick, and I'm being chased down the street by my boyfriend's ex …"

Kurt listens for the operator, but something drowns her out - a loud noise, like a jogger running into a metal trash can, then a scream. Probably the person who hit the trash can, Kurt thinks. Something hits his right shoulder, hard enough to knock him forward a step. Rocks. The asshole's throwing rocks. What does he think that's going to accomplish? It's definitely getting people's attention because Kurt hears random yells of, "What the …?", "Look out!", "Oh my God! Stop him!" and "He's bleeding!"

 _He's bleeding?_ Kurt stutters another step. He feels warm and wet run down his arm, an ache in his shoulder he was about to write off to the cold morning and his stiff, sex-strained joints. He puts his left hand up to his right shoulder to investigate. His shoulder screams the second he touches it. Kurt drops his phone. He'd tried to wrap his fingers around it, but they wouldn't work, and he just can't seem to hold it anymore.

He pulls his left hand away and sees it. He knew it was there – his mind did, but his eyes hadn't seen it yet. Blood. And the second his eyes see it, his brain confirms it, and a crippling pain spirals down his arm and through his chest. He tries to take another step, but he can't, not even stuttered ones. Instead, his knees give out and he falls, the world spinning by on only half speed as he plummets to the ground. He hears more screams. One of them may be his own. He's not sure. But there are plenty of them to go around so one of them must be. He hears running footsteps, and something that might be another trash can knock over, only it's not a trash can. Kurt knows it's not. He knows it never was.

"Out of the way! Out of the way! I'm a doctor," he hears, or does he hear it? Is it his mind replaying the last movie he saw where someone got hurt and a doctor ran out of the crowd to help? Do doctors do that in real life, or is that just a Hollywood thing?

"Did anyone see what happened?"

A coat is draped over his legs, but he only feels the pressure. Not the warmth. His legs have gone numb. His mind is going numb. His shoulder burns like someone has stuck a poker inside it and is tearing it apart. The rest of him feels nauseous, more and more dizzy and sick with every heartbeat pushing a new river of blood down his arm.

Will his heart push it all out? How much does he have left?

"Some guy just walked up behind him and shot him!"

"No, no, they were fighting, and then he shot him!"

"You! In the blue hat! Call 9-1-1!"

"I already called them!"

"Good. That's good. Sir? Sir, can you hear me? What's your name? Do you know who shot you? No, no, no, keep your eyes open. Look at me. Blink if you can hear me. Sir? Sir? Does anyone know who this man is?"

"I do!" an older woman's voice cuts in, the scent of cinnamon buns and memories of long conversations following behind her. "Kurt! Kurt, what happened!? Kurt, talk to me, honey! Kurt! Kur …"

Kurt wants to say something, but the numbness in his head has traveled to his tongue, leaving his mouth dry and his lips heavy. If he _could_ say something, he'd just scream. The intense pain in his shoulder seems to insist on it. But he can't scream, because he can't breathe. And if he could breathe, he'd just throw up, bile working its way up from his stomach as air fights to weave a pathway into his lungs. Shock sets in, and whatever his body's doing, his mind doesn't know. That connection has been severed, removing it too far from his conscious to concern him.

Kurt thinks that the world should go black, but it doesn't. Instead, everything becomes too bright. Loud and bright. The sun, the sidewalk, the people, the sky. He blinks to bring the world back into focus, but it refuses. It wants to remain fuzzy, and Kurt can't seem to convince it otherwise.

He closes his eyes to shut out the bright, expecting nice, soothing dark, but all he sees is yellow.


	5. I Had to Find You, Tell You I Need You

**After Kurt gets shot, Blaine finds out about what happened between Kurt and Eli, first from Kurt's downstairs neighbor … then from Eli.**

 ** _Warning for mention of Kurt being in the hospital. Written for the Klaine Valentines Challenge Prompt Day 7 "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol_**

"Mr. Hummel? Excuse me, Mr. Hummel?"

Blaine attempts to peek over the shoulder of the blonde nurse currently "just doing her job", which includes keeping Blaine out of Kurt's room. Unfortunately, she happens to be doing it exceptionally. Blaine can't see much past her squared shoulders, her long neck, and her tidy bun, but he's determined to get a look inside for himself.

"Yes?" a gravelly voice responds.

"I'm sorry to bother you. I know it's been a _long day_ for you …" She throws that remark over her shoulder, not turning to glare at the man she knows is standing behind her, even though she had intended for him to stay in the waiting room until she returned with an update. But Blaine has to see Kurt with his own two eyes. Even if Blaine gets turned away, he needs a glimpse of Kurt to know that he's in one piece.

Still alive and breathing.

Blaine hates that he couldn't get to the hospital faster when Kurt's downstairs neighbor called him to tell him that Kurt had been shot. Blaine couldn't make sense of it at the time. Even now, at the hospital, standing a few feet from Kurt's door, he's having trouble resolving it. _No, no, you're mistaken_ , he'd told her, his chest tightening with every one of her sniffles, his ribcage filling with a cold tidal wave of shock. Kurt couldn't be shot because, at that moment, Blaine was receiving about a dozen text messages that could only be from Kurt. Kurt calling from the ambulance, the rational part of Blaine's brain deduced, offering him that as a compromise, even though Mrs. Hildabreg assured Blaine that Kurt had been unconscious when the paramedics took him away.

And as devastating as that information had been when Blaine received it, as much as it broke him to hear, it was the text messages when he finally read them that propelled him out of his class and onto a train.

Dozens and dozens of messages, texts, and voicemails, asking him _Why Blaine? Why did you make me do it? Why couldn't you just text me back? Why were you ignoring me? Don't you love me? Don't I mean anything to you? I've been arrested. It's all just a big misunderstanding, but I need you to help me. I need you to call me. I need you to tell the police that I'm your boyfriend, that you love me, and to let me go. Then this will all blow over._

 _I love you, and I forgive you._

The second Blaine read them, he knew. He knew what it meant. He knew who it was … Eli. A man from Blaine's past that he'd written off as a mistake he'd made when he was lonely, when he didn't know better, when he didn't know what he wanted.

Ironically, the one thing Blaine _did_ know at the time was he didn't want Eli.

Blaine didn't answer a single one of those texts. He was heartbroken, furious beyond belief, ready to spit nails and tear into Eli with his teeth, but he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to acknowledge Eli's existence, give him the attention he so desperately sought. Not after what he'd done.

Good or bad, that would be giving Eli what he wanted. And then he would win.

"… but this young man says he knows your son, and he's being very insistent. ( _Which was the polite way of saying that Blaine had already been in the waiting room for over two hours and he still wouldn't go the fuck away_.) What would you like me to do about him?"

Feeling his time in that hallway growing short, Blaine gets as close to the doorway as he can without physically climbing over the woman in front of him. In his search for Kurt, he locks eyes with a man that Blaine can just tell has seen more than his fair share of grief.

And he doesn't want to see any more.

The man stares at Blaine, expressionless, done with dealing with people for today, but a spark of something like recognition smooths his face.

"Let him in," the man says, taking off his cap to run a hand over his head, then using it to cover a yawn. "He's good."

The nurse moves aside to let Blaine pass. She watches him enter the room, bitterly sympathetic for the man sitting vigil over his son's hospital bed. She's not angry at Blaine, per se. She just wants the poor man left in peace.

Blaine can't blame her. He looks tired enough to fall right out of his chair.

"If you need anything, Mr. Hummel, just give me a buzz," she says, closing the door behind Blaine when she leaves. The man puts his cap on, then sinks back into his chair.

Blaine looks at the man, then over at the bed where Kurt lays unconscious, motionless, peaceful except for a single wrinkle in his brow. Blaine knows a thing or two about hospitals, having been put in one in high school after being beaten up by jocks, and about pain killers. He knows that they're not as one hundred percent effective as they're portrayed in the movies. Kurt might be unconscious, but he's still in pain.

The man sitting bent over in the chair, elbows on knees, absorbed by the scuffs on his work boots, seems to have already forgotten that Blaine is there.

Because he's also in pain, and that's all he's thinking about.

Blaine is in pain, too - his heart twisting, his stomach flipping, his legs rubbery – and for the same reason as this man, but suddenly Blaine feels like he doesn't belong there.

Blaine wants to stand by Kurt's side and hold his hand, sit quietly by him until he wakes, but it seems like that will get unnecessarily awkward – two grown strangers trapped in the same close quarters, guarding over the same man but ignoring one another.

Blaine clears his throat, gets ready to introduce himself. It doesn't pull the man's attention away from his shoes, but he sighs.

"I'm Blaine," Blaine says. He doesn't hold out his hand. He doesn't want to put pressure on the man to take it.

"Blaine Anderson." The man pinches the bridge of his nose. "I figured as much. Kurt's talked about you a few times. Says you're incredible. Talks about you like you were the first man to walk on the moon or something. I'm Burt, by the way."

"Are you Kurt's dad?"

"Yup. That would be me." Burt glances up. Blaine tries to see the resemblance – the brow, the nose, the cheekbones. Other than that, Kurt must take after his mom.

"H-how's Kurt doing?" Blaine asks. "I called ahead, asked at the front, but they wouldn't tell me anything. Family members only."

"He got through surgery fine. No complications, thank God. According to the doctors, it was an easy extraction. The bullet …" Burt trips over the word, kneads his tensing forehead with his fingertips "… didn't hit anything major. He might need a few more surgeries to repair some other damage. He opened his eyes a little while ago. He was asking for you … wanted to make sure you were okay. I guess he thought the shooter might have gone after you, too."

"He didn't. The police caught up with him. Arrested him," Blaine assures him.

"Yeah?" Burt huffs, sounding even more tired, more done than he did a moment ago. "How do you know?"

"Because h-he told me," Blaine admits, his stomach going from flips to full-on triple axels. "He called me from the police station, left me a voicemail. He wanted my help." Blaine sighs, feeling his chances with Kurt's dad, and with _Kurt_ , slipping away. "I'm so sorry about all of this."

"Why? Did _you_ shoot him?"

"No. No, I didn't. But my kind of ex did."

Burt raises his eyes. "What do you mean _kind of ex_?"

"We weren't actually dating. We only met up … you know … once."

"So a one-night stand? You can use the actual words. I'm not twelve."

"I'm … I'm sorry."

Burt blows out a breath. "It's alright, kid. I can't imagine how you must be feeling. Here." He taps the chair next to him. "Sit."

"Thanks," Blaine says, taking the seat.

"So, what happened between you and this guy? Why did he go after my son to get to you?"

It strikes Blaine that Kurt's father really doesn't want to know the details about Blaine's failed relationship with Eli, but that he's making conversation. Then again, he could be curious. After all, the man did shoot his son.

"Nothing really, to be honest. He friended me on Facebook after I moved to New York. We talked a lot online. We were both living in a new place, both didn't have much in the way of friends. After a few weeks, we decided to meet, see if we could hit it off. One thing led to another and …" Blaine cuts himself short. Burt Hummel isn't twelve, but Blaine would rather not remember that night. "He was a nice guy over the phone, but in person … I don't know. Something felt kind of _off_ about him, if that makes sense. We'd only met the one time, but he started talking about moving in together, switching schools to be closer to me, changing his major to match mine – not asking what I think, but talking like it was a done deal. It seemed a little … premature."

"It seems a little psycho."

"Yeah. I guess you could say that." Blaine chuckles at Burt's assessment - accurate, but less than PC. "Mostly, I just didn't feel like we were on the same page about things so I broke it off that night. He got upset, bombarded me with messages, then he just kinda went away. I knew he was angry, but I thought he would have gotten over it by now. I never thought he was capable of something like this. If I had known …"

"What would you have done?"

Burt comes across as slightly sarcastic, but Blaine can tell it's an honest question.

"I … I would have found a way to keep Kurt safe. I would have sat outside his front door at night. I would have made the police do something … I would have kept Eli away from him somehow. I would have …" Blaine wants to add more, but he doesn't know what he could. If he had known the man behind the messages was Eli, he would have caved and gotten a new phone number, regardless of the headache. He would have upped the security on his Facebook account, on all his accounts, maybe even removed himself from social media altogether.

If he thought for one second that Eli was the kind of man who would come after him, or the people in his life, with a gun, he would have gotten a restraining order, maybe bought a Taser.

If he had thought for one second that dating Kurt was putting Kurt's life in danger, he might have even considered breaking things off just to keep Kurt safe. Because in the short time they've known one another, that's how much Kurt means to him. He'd rather keep Kurt at a distance and know he's safe than to have him and risk losing him this way.

Burt contemplates Blaine's response while Blaine struggles with the rest, what more he can say to make Burt trust him. But something Blaine said, or in his voice when he said it, makes up Burt's mind.

"Let me tell you what," Burt says, "I'll put you down on the list at the front desk as Kurt's brother. They shouldn't give you any problems visiting after that. Just don't blow it by making out or anything. Okay?"

Blaine smiles, his cheeks a little pinker, his stomach a bit more steady. "Okay. That would be great. Thank you."

"Don't sweat it."

From his bed, Kurt groans softly, blinking his eyes open a sliver at a time. Blaine turns to watch him wake. The wince of pain that twitches his cheek strikes straight at Blaine's twisting heart, but he breathes easier hearing Kurt speak.

"B-Blaine?"

"Kurt?"

"You know, I already got the chance to talk to him earlier," Burt says, "so I'm going to go grab a cup of coffee, give you kids a minute alone. You want anything, Anderson?"

"No, thank you. I'm good."

"Okay. Just … keep an eye on him. I'll be right back."

Blaine watches Kurt's dad stand up from his chair. He walks by the foot of his son's bed, taking a moment to tuck the blankets in beneath Kurt's feet, then leaves the room. He stops by the reception desk, Blaine figures, to add Blaine's name to the approved list of visitors. It seems funny that the other day Blaine was thinking about what it would be like to meet Kurt's dad, how terrified he would feel, how much he wanted to make a good impression.

Well, this is about as lousy a first impression as someone can get, meeting the man whose crazy one-night stand shot your son, and yet, Blaine gets the feeling that the man liked him.

Blaine hopes he's right. He wants to be in good with Kurt's dad.

"B-Blaine?" Kurt whispers, on the verge of tears. "Blaine, are you really here?"

"Yes, it's me." Blaine gets up out of his seat and pulls his chair over. "You're awake."

"I'm awake," Kurt repeats. He tries to smile. It comes out lopsided, only half his mouth able to lift, the other half too numb to move.

"How do you feel?" Blaine asks.

"My legs hurt," Kurt mumbles miserably. He makes to sit up. He doesn't even lift off the mattress before he decides that's a bad idea. "My shoulder hurts. My brain hurts." Kurt's eyelids flutter as his eyes try to open wider, see Blaine clearer. "Are you … are you hurt? D-did he find you? Did he get to you, too?"

"No. No, he didn't get to me." Blaine swallows hard. He realizes that that's a technicality. By attacking Kurt, Eli got to him. It may have been an indirect attack, but it was effective. "The police got him. I'm not in any danger, and neither are you. Not anymore."

"I was … I was so scared, Blaine. I didn't know …" Kurt's nose scrunches, his eyes fighting to focus when he notices Blaine's face crumble. "What's wrong? Was it something I said?"

"No, it's not. I just … I want to explain about what happened … what I did …" Blaine wants to tell Kurt everything, but he can't go into it all now. With the amount of medication that must be flowing through Kurt's body, Blaine doesn't know how much Kurt will understand, how much he'll remember, or what his brain might do with the information while he's recovering. But Blaine also doesn't want to wait. From the texts he received from Eli, Blaine got the impression that he told Kurt they were a couple. He needed to put any of Kurt's doubts to rest. "I need to tell you …"

Kurt stops Blaine with a weak shake of his head. "Just tell me one thing."

"Anything."

"Is it true what he said?" Kurt's lower lip trembles. He's not expecting the worse, but he didn't expect to get shot today, either. What if the worst is waiting for him, whether he expects it or not? "Were you guys together?" And one more thing that his drug addled brain conjured up that he has to know. "Did you know he was behind the messages? Were you his boyfriend while you and I …?"

"No." Blaine longs to take Kurt's hand and hold it, but with the tubes and IVs, he's afraid to touch him. "No, none of that's true. I … yes, I slept with him, but only once, and it was a long time ago. Afterwards, I broke it off, I swear. I haven't spoken to him since. I had no idea …"

Kurt shushes Blaine through heavy lips, nodding his even heavier head. "Ok. Ok, that's … that's all I need to know for now."

"Kurt?" Blaine's eyes begin to tear. It's too much. Meeting this fantastic man, spending so many wonderful weeks together, now seeing him lying in a hospital bed, injured because of _him_? Blaine doesn't know how he could ever make that up to Kurt. "What would you like me to do for you? Anything you want, just ask me."

"Can you … can you lie here with me?" Kurt asks. "Just lie down with me and forget the world? Unless you think … I don't want to waste your time, make you stay here with me when you could be off doing something else."

Blaine pulls his chair closer. He can't see a safe way to get himself up on Kurt's bed, but he finds a way to maneuver his head onto Kurt's pillow, so they can be forehead to forehead. It doesn't matter that his right arm's cramping, or that some metal lever from the bed is digging into his side.

"Kurt, there's nowhere else in the world I wanna be right now than here with you."


	6. Tell You I'm Sorry

**Now that Kurt is getting better, Blaine wonders if staying together is the best thing for the man he loves.**

 **Written for the Klaine Valentine Challenge prompt "I Will" by The Beatles.**

"Hey, Blaine! Nice to see you back!"

"Hey, Maureen. How's your afternoon been so far?" Blaine asks, approaching the nurse's station with a brown paper bag in hand.

"Pretty good. No real complaints," she says, smile widening when Blaine hands the bag over. She unrolls the top and takes a sniff of the freshly baked cronuts inside, the scent of sweet, warm pastry making her eyes twinkle and her stomach growl. "Better now, though. Three of us on shift haven't had anything to eat since breakfast, and that was about eight hours ago."

"Well, hopefully those will tide you guys over till you can take a break," Blaine says, tapping out a cheerful rhythm on the counter with his index fingers.

"They will." She cinches the bag at the top to keep the cronuts toasty. "Thank you so much, Blaine. You're a life saver."

"Nope. That title falls to you guys," Blaine says. "The cronuts are just my way of saying thank you, though I don't think I could ever thank you enough."

"We appreciate it, Blaine," Maureen says. "We don't always hear a lot of thank yous around here. Those usually go to the doctors. But I think you and your boyfriend have filled our quota for the year."

"I'm glad. Speaking of, is he …?"

"He's awake. And he's been asking about you."

"Can I …?" Blaine motions towards Kurt's room with his head.

"Go right ahead. He is your _brother_ after all." Maureen winks, and Blaine chuckles, his cheeks pinker when he turns away.

The brother façade slipped within the first five minutes of Kurt's dad leaving to return to Ohio, but the nurses were fine with it. It wasn't as if Kurt and Blaine had been fooling anyone anyway. The way they looked at one another with stars in their eyes; the way they sat close when they spoke, Blaine's head resting on Kurt's pillow and their foreheads tilted together; and the way they held hands nonstop, as if they couldn't stand to be more than an inch away from one another at any given time all hinted at them sharing more than a brotherly affection towards one another.

There was also the fact that the two men bore absolutely no familial resemblance – not in their skin, their eyes, or their facial features. But it wasn't as if other couples hadn't pulled this same sort of thing at that hospital before. With the ways laws constantly changed to benefit LGBT couples, and then changed again to condemn them, many couples had no choice but to lie in order to visit. Blood relatives of the farthest divide were sometimes granted the final say, giving them the freedom to ply their homophobia as they saw fit. But the nurses didn't abide by that stupidity, and did their best to ensure that same sex couples got as much leeway as possible.

The biggest surprise has been the newfound friendship between Blaine and the lead ICU nurse, Maureen. And to think that Maureen was more than willing to kick Blaine out on his ass the first day he came in, but now, through a mutual love of baked goods and Barry Manilow songs, they've become fast friends.

Blaine slips into Kurt's room quietly just in case he drifted back to sleep. But when Blaine steps through the door, he's greeted by a slightly loopy grin and shining blue eyes.

"Hey," Blaine says, relieved to see Kurt in high spirits.

"Hey, yourself. Come. Sit." Kurt pats the air above the chair beside his bed as if Blaine hasn't been occupying that spot every day since Kurt had been brought to the hospital.

"I'm sorry I bugged out for a few hours," Blaine says, dropping a careful kiss on Kurt's forehead before taking his seat. "I had to take care of a few things, change my clothes … shower. I was becoming paranoid that people could smell me in the hallway."

"It's alright." Kurt searches for Blaine's hand blindly and finds it with ease. "You've been here every day. You needed a break from this place. I get that. _I_ need a break from this place."

"Yeah," Blaine says, guilty because Blaine knows that Kurt wants out, which is one of the reasons why he'd waited until Kurt fell asleep before he snuck away. He had only intended on staying out for an hour or two, but four hours later he was racing for the subway, cursing at himself for losing track of the time. "But they're moving you to a new room today, out of the ICU. That's a good sign. Hopefully that means you'll be out of here soon."

"Thank _God_!" Kurt gives Blaine's hand a subconscious squeeze. "I _need_ to go home. I'm tired of lying down. I'm tired of this gown …" Kurt looks down at it and makes a face, sticking out his tongue "… these sheets, the all of twelve stations on the TV, _and_ the lighting in here …" He glances at the bulbs directly above him and scowls. "They're _really_ drying me out. By the way …" Kurt leans closer to Blaine before he continues "… thank you so much for sneaking in my face wash and cream. I owe you one."

Blaine kisses Kurt's nose. "Anytime."

It amazes Blaine what a simple person Kurt is, what a creature of comfort. When Blaine first saw Kurt's picture, he thought for sure that Kurt would turn out to be "high-maintenance" - demanding the very best of everything, not willing to accept anything less - and therefore, out of Blaine's league. But Kurt's not that way at all. He's just picky. He likes things the way he likes them, and why shouldn't he? People should be allowed to enjoy their time on this planet however they can. But within the boundaries of that pickiness, Kurt is incredibly easy to please. He just needs a handful of his favorite things to keep him calm and make him happy.

Lucky for Blaine, he seems to be one of those things.

And yet, Kurt wouldn't be in this position if it weren't for Blaine. And as happy as Blaine is whenever he's with Kurt, the second he remembers that, it overshadows everything else, and the smile slips, unintentionally, from Blaine's face.

"You know, I appreciate you spending so much time with me," Kurt says, lying back against his pillows. "I wouldn't trade it for anything. But how is this affecting school?"

"It isn't really," Blaine assures him, absentmindedly running a thumb over Kurt's knuckles. "A lot of my classes are independent study with the lectures available online. I'll have to make up a handful of lab hours, but it's no big deal. How about you?"

"I was granted a leave of absence." Kurt lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug that doesn't quite get that far - a reflex action that his wounded shoulder isn't ready for yet. "A lot of the classes I'm taking I'll be able to make up over the summer, along with my performance hours. Summer stock, here I come."

"That's … that's good," Blaine says, not really feeling it. Blaine remembers Kurt going on and on about a performance of _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_ that one of the performance majors was directing as part of their senior project. They were aiming to put together an entirely LGBT cast, and Kurt had been counting the days till he could audition. A friend had told him once that he'd make an incredible Brick, but seeing as the director was playing with the genders of the characters a bit, he was dying to try out for the role of Maggie. During the recent excitement, the play had completely slipped Blaine's mind until Kurt got a text from a friend saying that he had auditioned for and gotten the part of Maggie Pollitt. The disappointment on Kurt's face was almost as painful to see as the bandage covering his shoulder. Kurt never got his chance to audition for that role because he was in the hospital. And he was in the hospital because of Blaine. "That's good news."

Kurt raises an eyebrow at the melancholy tone in Blaine's voice, at his eyes staring at Kurt's hand as if it were Kurt's IV talking to Blaine instead of Kurt. "What's going on, Blaine?" he asks. "These past few days, you've seemed quiet and strangely sad. And, to be honest, it's making me nervous."

"I'm sorry," Blaine says, but unable to meet Kurt's eyes.

"It's making me think that you might be having second thoughts about us."

"I'm not. I swear I'm not." Blaine bends to kiss Kurt's hand. "I just … I want you to know that I'm sorry."

"I know that you're sorry, honey. You've apologized about a hundred times, and I forgive you, even though there's nothing to forgive. You didn't do this, Blaine. Nothing that happened between Eli and me is your fault in any way."

"I get that, Kurt. I do. But, I'm still … I can't imagine how you feel right now. You've been shot, you've gone through surgery, and you're going to need _more_ surgery. You're missing out on things you want to do, things you had planned on doing before you met me, and the truth is, that _does_ have something to do with me. Maybe indirectly, but still. And you're such a wonderful guy, so kind and caring. I don't want you to think that you have to stay with me because of this." Blaine raises sad eyes to tell Kurt the one thing he's been holding back since he found out that Kurt would be okay. "If you want to break up with me, then I'll understand."

Kurt jerks back as if Blaine just told him he intends to run away and join the circus. "Why would I want to break up with you!?"

"Because you got shot."

"You didn't shoot me."

"But I'm the reason it happened."

"No, some deranged man with delusions of a relationship that didn't exist and who can't take no for an answer is the reason I got shot, Blaine," Kurt says, his medication-induced calm slipping. "And seeing as that man's behind bars, the chances are slim that it will ever happen again … knock on wood." Kurt lets go of Blaine's hand to knock on the wooden table beside his bed. When he can't reach it, Blaine does it for him. "You can't villainize yourself for other people's actions. You had no control over this, no way of knowing this guy was actually going to come out of the woodwork and hunt one of us down. He could have just as easily found you and shot you. And do you know what I would have done then?"

"What?" Blaine re-takes Kurt's hand, kissing it gently in an attempt to bring Kurt's rising blood pressure back down from the rafters.

"I would be sitting in _that_ chair beside _your_ hospital bed, on the same leave of absence I have now, missing those same things that I'd planned before I met you, because there'd be no way I could leave your side." Kurt feels Blaine smile in his small huff of breath. "You deserve nice things, Blaine. You deserve a good life. And so do I, no matter what anyone else wants or thinks they're entitled to. We shouldn't be punished because of other people's assumptions and stupidity."

Blaine nods. "You're a nice thing," he says, reminding Kurt that if Blaine deserves nice things, and Kurt's a nice thing, then Blaine deserves Kurt.

Kurt smiles. "You are, too. And I don't want to say goodbye to you. Not over this. This thing that happened? It's _nothing_ compared to us. My mom used to say that the only reason you should leave someone is because you stop caring about them … barring abuse and whatnot, but that's not an issue here. Do you still care about me?"

"Yes, I do, Kurt," Blaine says, a thickness to his words that catches in his throat. "So much."

Kurt sighs, three days' worth of tension releasing in a single breath. "I care about you, too. So you see, what's a bullet between boyfriends?"

Blaine snickers softly. He tries to repress it, because that shouldn't be funny. But considering the fact that Kurt's okay, and that Blaine gets to keep Kurt, he can laugh at it a tiny bit.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"How attached are you to your loft in Bushwick?"

Kurt knew this question was coming. His dad had already asked it, and so had Isabelle. She texted him yesterday to see how he was faring, then offered him the guest room in her condo for as long as he needed. It was a tempting offer. Her condo is gorgeous, close to Vogue and to NYADA, but as much as Kurt loves Isabelle, he tries not to mix his work life and his personal life. If anything at all went sour at work, living at her place would turn into an awkward situation quick.

To be honest, he wasn't all that scared of someone attacking him at home just because this had happened. Call it his small town naiveté, but what were the odds?

Then he realized that for a gay man living in Brooklyn, probably moderate to high.

It would be nice not to have to travel across town to see Blaine. It would be way more conducive to spending their nights together. But moving in with Blaine at this stage in their relationship? Even after everything they've been through as a couple, Kurt feels it's too soon. They need to be separate entities for a while longer.

That's the intelligent, mature portion of his brain speaking, the part that's learned from experience and numerous Cosmo articles.

The rest of his brain – the crazy, impulsive, and admittedly hopeless romantic side – wants to pack up his Vivienne Westwood suits and his Alexander McQueen scarves, and move in with Blaine right now.

And his heart concurs.

But seeing as he's still on the fence, and filled with more painkillers than he normally likes to be on when making life decisions, he says, "Why don't we discuss where I'm going to be living when I find out when I'm getting out of this place? I'm not opposed to moving. We may not end up living in the same apartment just yet, but it would be nice if we were less than three subway rides away."

"Agreed." Blaine sounds disappointed, but not as much as Kurt had feared, so he's glad that they're both on the same page. "You know, I wasn't going to say this until you got out of the hospital because … well, I didn't want you to think I felt this way just because you got shot. But it was true about a week ago. I think, actually, it was true the second I saw you – the _real_ you, in person, out on the sidewalk, listening to your music. And it's still true now. And I'd rather not keep it to myself any longer because, if you don't mind me saying it, I'd like to start saying it more often."

"And what's that?" Kurt giggles. Blaine gets cute when he gets nervous … but also slightly less than comprehensible.

"I love you."

Kurt bites his lip. Yes. Thank goodness they're both on the same page. If they can keep that up, it'll make writing the story of their life together that much easier. "I love you, too."


End file.
